We Remain
by the-autumn-sunset
Summary: Two years after the war, Hermione Granger has settled into life after the war. Everything is as it should be, until she runs into Draco Malfoy, who is the same arrogant prick he was at school, save for the fact that he refuses to get a move on his life. Chance and Narcissa Malfoy bring the two together; the only problem is that they want nothing to do with each other.
1. Prologue

**Hey everyone! I'm Autumn, here with what I hope will be a nice, long story. Dramione's always been one of my favorite ships, and since I've recently read a few **_**really**_ **great realistic fics with them, I've fallen even more in love with them.**

**I've spent weeks trying to think up of my own realistic setting for a Dramione fic, and actually began this one with the intention that it would be the start of the time/setting of the entire fic, but as I wrote it, I realized it was much better as the sort-of-prologue. So here it is: the sort-of-prologue of "We Remain".**

**I sincerely hope you enjoy this!**

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><p>It was the night of September 19, and the Leaky Cauldron was, as usual, bustling with pretty waitresses and rowdy men that stank of sweat, alcohol, and vomit.<p>

Tables of drunk men and women filled the pub to its brim. The very interesting thing about the Leaky Cauldron was that nearly everyone came to the pub alone but ended up among others who were alike in the desire to drown misery or celebrate joy or relieve stress. Nearly everyone was with another.

But this particular night found a person who entered the pub alone and would exit the pub alone.

In the corner sat a woman dressed in dark clothing who was neither drinking nor speaking with anyone else. In fact, she appeared to be immune to the rowdiness of the pub and the "Can I get you somethin', miss?"s that she received from waiters and drunk men alike. To these, she politely declined with no more than a slight shake of her head.

She was a young woman of the age of twenty-three wearing muggle clothes and a scarf that covered her mouth. Discreet, that was what she was, a few waiters nervously thought as they eyed her, discreet and shady. In fact, one employee whispered to the others if they ought to kick the woman out since she was not buying anything and did not appear to be meeting anyone else. This some of the workers thought was an excellent idea but nobody dared approach the woman, simply because she exuded strength and something almost sinister.

If they had known who she was, they would not think her to be sinister at all, because Hermione Granger was known as a war hero and was Harry Potter's best friend and a role model to all women, no matter the fact that she did not like to think about it, and that Hermione Granger was the same Hermione Granger that sat in the shady corner of the Leaky Cauldron.

Had the waiters and waitresses known her identity, they would not be scheming how to remove her from the pub - they would be scheming how to shake her hand or get her autograph. But Hermione Granger did not want to be found by anyone, and so the waitresses continued murmuring suspicions under their breath, unaware that Hermione could hear every word they were saying.

"You know,"whispered one of the waitresses to her friend as they washed tankards, "she really does look strange."

"Certainly," her friend agreed. "I wonder what she wants to hide."

"I'd tell her to leave, but you never know what kind of people come here…" The waitress trailed off, her breath hitching as the object of her attention appeared to look straight at her. "Oh!" the waitress whispered quickly, averting her eyes and returning to her work, silent.

Ten feet away, Hermione tried to suppress a smile. She was perfectly aware that not a single server trusted her dark appearance - she would not trust herself, if she were them - but it was important, so, so important, that she stay hidden.

But although she did not know it, it was too late.

Across the pub sat a lone man, similar to the woman in every aspect of solitude but the fact that he had two empty bottles in front of him and that he was watching Hermione Granger very carefully, because he had seen the way she'd walked into the pub and seen the way her eyes had darted around the room before relaxing and eyeing the dark, empty corner. He had seen the tenseness in her shoulders and watched it fade as she slipped further into the darkness and solitude.

He hadn't known that Hermione Granger had come back to England, and he was willing to bet that close to no one else did either.

It had come as a shock, two years ago, when Hermione Granger abruptly left England without her two bodyguards and without, it seemed, reason. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley appeared to be the only ones to know why she had left, but refused to disclose any information.

Draco wondered just how much they actually knew about her departure. There was only one other person in the world who knew why Hermione Granger had left the country, and that person knew it had little to do with a "fallout with the Golden Trio".

Just as Draco was raising his hand for another bottle (he was at the pub for his own reasons as well), the pub door opened and a hush fell over the room as people - despite their drunken states - stared at the figures in the doorway.

Tom the bartender was the first to react, immediately bustling towards the door with a large grin on his face. "Mr. Potter! How do you do?"

"Fine, Tom, thanks. You have room for four?"

Well, even if there wasn't room, people would fall over the Boy Who Lived and give him room for ten if he wanted.

Draco, who was not interested in seeing Harry Potter with a third of the Weasley family in tow (he saw them enough times at work), turned back to his empty bottles and moodily barked at the waitress nearest him, "Get me another bottle." His eyes remained fixed on Hermione Granger.

Chatter began to refill the room, and Harry Potter's words were eventually drowned out, much to Draco's satisfaction. This satisfaction was short-lived, however, because as he sipped his drink, Potter and the Weasels stepped into view and sat at the table closest to Draco's stool.

"Five bottles of Firewhisky, please," said George Weasley loudly.

"I'm not sure Hermione would approve," said the Weaslette.

She wouldn't, especially since they were drinking for her birthday. A similar reason for Draco's drinking, but so different, so, so different.

He scrutinized the shadowy form of Granger. Could she see him, he wondered? He could only see her through the murky darkness because he knew she was there. Could she see him, or was she only watching her friends drink for her birthday?

"To Hermione!" the four were saying, clinking their glasses together.

"Happy birthday," Draco heard the Weasel - oh, how his voice filled him with contempt - say quietly. If she could hear him, Draco thought as he took a large gulp of his own drink, what would she say?

This continued in a similar manner until perhaps an hour later, when the four finished their drinks with a solemn last, "I hope she comes back soon," and got up to leave the bar. Draco leaned back and watched Hermione from the other side of the room.

Was she going to get up, he wondered? Was she going to show herself to them?

Potter and the Weasleys left the bar uninterrupted, walking straight past the corner their supposedly best friend sat, eyeing their every movement just as Draco eyed hers. But as soon as they swept through the doors, Hermione got up and strode out of the pub, leaving a wake of relieved waiters and waitresses behind her.

Draco tried to restrain. He really did.

But eventually curiosity beat even two and a half bottles' worth of liquor, and he found himself slapping money down on the counter and stumbling out of the bar. It was cold outside, but he was warm from the alcohol burning in his stomach.

Two and a half bottles. Last year, on this same day, he had finished off three. The year before that, he'd had four bottles. The year before that… well, there hadn't been any need for him to drink.

He lit up his wand, eyes searching for her familiar mane of brown chaotic curls, wondering if she would be searching for him if their positions were reversed - but she wasn't here anymore, she wasn't anywhere, she must have Disapparated like she had that night -

"Dra - Malfoy?"

Her voice cut through his hazy state, and he stopped stumbling, stopped breathing, stopped anything and everything - and turned around.

She stood in front of him, just the same height she'd been two years ago. Her cheeks were flushed red - that black scarf she had had slipped from her face, revealing her lips and her chin - her eyes, they were still brown and warm without the influence of alcohol, but he could not look at them - her hair was still untameable and so wretchedly messy - but she was there. Two years, and she was here, an abyssal five feet from him.

He opened his mouth, unsure what he should say because he could see it in her eyes that she regretted saying anything - but he would not make the same mistake she did, no, he would not slip up and say her name - "Granger," he mustered out as coolly as he could as a drunk.

She kept staring at him, her mouth parted. She looked healthy. She looked better than she had two years ago. "Malfoy," she said again, still stunned.

"Granger."

And they were back on square one, just as they had been four years ago.

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><p><strong>And that's a wrap for the sort-of-prologue! The entire story will basically take place before this particular event even happens, so keep that in mind when then next chapter comes out, which will hopefully be soon! ;)<strong>

**Thank you so much,**

**xo Autumn**


	2. Down Knockturn Alley

**Hey everyone! So yes, I haven't updated in a month because of finals and school and general business, but here is the second chapter! A **_**trillion **_**thanks to my beta, wildspiritontheloose, who has helped me immensely already, and I can't thank her enough! **

**Really hope you guys enjoy! :)**

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><p><span><strong>Four years ago<strong>

Harry and Ron would laugh their arses off if they knew just how Hermione turned up in Knockturn Alley.

She was well-acquainted with Floo - she used it almost every day to enter the Ministry for work - but perhaps there'd been something wrong with her pot of Floo powder (it _had_ looked slightly purplish) because as soon as she'd stepped into the fireplace that morning, she'd choked on the smoke and landed in Knockturn Alley instead of Diagon Alley.

They would never let her live this down, especially since she'd been the one to suggest that they occasionally use Floo Powder to travel after Ron Splinched himself by accident.

"Oh, _bugger_," Hermione muttered angrily as she landed in a fireplace that appeared to be blocked by a wall. Forget laughing their arses off - Harry and Ron would laugh the rest of their life off.

After coughing a little, she whipped out her wand and murmured a spell that shifted the big cabinet out of the way, revealing a large, dimmed store with the owner standing at the counter looking at her in annoyance.

"Excuse me, but we do not allow customers to use the Floo," said the owner in clipped tones. He was holding a long green snake-like object in his hands as he stared at her distastefully.

"My apologies," she said graciously. "I'll fix this."

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and fixed the cabinet, apologizing to the owner again as she cleaned the soot off the ground. As soon as she'd repolished the dark floorboards, she backed out of the shop with no more than a wary nod and half-smile. It was for good reason, too, that Hermione rushed out; on the way out, she saw a display of what looked like human eyeballs.

The familiar September breeze was comforting as she stepped out into a very unfamiliar alley of dark shops that had grotesque signs that said, "Get your most potently cursed objects here!" and "Toenails of the dead" proudly hanging in windows. All was very quiet, too; very different from the sunny chatter of the people in Diagon Alley.

She was about to Apparate from the alley - she was not interested in blindly attempting to make her way out - when she saw an intriguing display in the window of the store across from the one she exited called "Patrick's Antique People".

She inched forward, peering at the window. There were two mummies behind the glass, standing (rather, hanging) back to back and facing opposite sides, forcibly joined by a… a _choker_, it seemed like, that was bejeweled with green gems and strung around both necks. There was something disconcertingly serene about the image, despite the fact that the mummies appeared to be choking.

Transfixed by the strange image, Hermione moved across the little street. She was just four feet from the window with the mummies when she quite suddenly collided with someone.

She was sent stumbling two feet back, her hair flying around her head and tangling itself up. "I'm sorry - I didn't see you there," she said as she straightened herself and attempted to push her mane of curly hair out of her face. She could make out the form of a man standing stiffly in front of the store window.

The man, who had hardly stumbled upon the impact, appeared to be torn between walking away and responding to her. He walked forward two steps before turning, his arms crossed, and scowling very unpleasantly. Hermione was reminded of her experiences as Hogwarts as he said superciliously, "Watch where you're going."

And it was perhaps because she had just been thinking about Hogwarts, but the pompous way the darkly-clothed man said this was so familiar that Hermione reeled back and took another few steps away, staring at the form of the man in horror.

"_Malfoy_?" she said without thinking, her mouth falling open as she pushed away the last locks of her hair. She squinted at the man through the dark, trying to see the hair and face beneath the dark hat he wore.

But that wasn't necessary, because upon hearing his name, Draco Malfoy lifted his head and met her eyes under the brim of his hat, looking positively murderous - not that Hermione could really notice for all she was lost in shock and thought.

Draco Malfoy had hardly been heard of since the war two years ago and his trial a year ago. It had been a colossal affair - half the Wizarding world were insistent that Draco, at least, be sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban once it got out that he'd been the one to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts the night Albus Dumbledore had been killed. The other half took pity on the boy - he was, after all, just barely legal - and suggested minor punishments instead.

The court had gone with the latter, primarily because of Lucius Malfoy's desperate betrayal of the names of hiding Death Eaters. The entire Malfoy family was let off the hook, excepting the fact Lucius was not to be employed in any facility any longer (not that the family was in need of money, anyway). And after the jury had finalized their decision, people had had little interest in updates on the Malfoy family's lives. In fact, other than occasional references to Narcissa Malfoy's excellent fashion statements, the Malfoy name had not been printed on any newspaper since one year ago.

And Draco Malfoy had not been seen by anyone Hermione knew since one year ago… that was, until now.

So when Malfoy's murderous glare morphed into partial shock and disgust at seeing her, Hermione hardly noticed. She hardly heard him as he said coldly and without humor, "I wouldn't have expected _you'd_ be the one here." And she was still dazed as he turned and Apparated on the spot, leaving her staring at the window with the mummies and the choker and wondering what in Merlin's name Draco Malfoy was doing out and about in Knockturn Alley.

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><p>Two minutes later, Hermione landed next to Ron, who was standing outside of Gringotts, evidently searching for her. His red hair seemed ever brighter in the light, and the shadow that reached down the steps of the bank made the gangly ginger appear even taller than he already was.<p>

"Oh, hey, Hermione," he said with a start as she appeared. "You're late, you know." His mouth curved into a sly smile. "I thought you had a thing for being on time. Harry's inside."

Hermione nodded tersely, ignoring his comment about her usually precise arrival times. She blinked furiously, adjusting to the bright light of the sky above. How could it have been so dark in Knockturn Alley when this type of sunshine poured into Diagon Alley? She shivered, distractedly brushing off some soot from her pants as she stared blindly at one of the bank's smooth white pillars. Draco Malfoy… she really hadn't imagined him, she hadn't…

Ron had been babbling some updates about the Quidditch League, but stopped speaking to wave a hand in front of her face. "Hermione? You look strange."

Hermione frowned, attempting to relax her shoulders. She hesitated before saying, "I just saw someone in Knockturn Alley… It was - well, let's wait for Harry."

"I'm here," came Harry's voice from behind them, and the Boy Who Lived walked towards Hermione and Ron, pockets jingling with coins. His raven hair looked messier than usual - no doubt, his trip to the Burrow where Ginny was had something to do with it - and Hermione had the urge to flatten it down. She refrained from conjuring up a comb and forcing him to comb his hair, because she was well aware of what it felt like to have hair that evaded all efforts to tame it.

"Hey, Hermione." Harry scrutinized her as he approached. "Did you go through the Floo? You have soot in your hair."

She waved away the boys' smirks as she brushed off the soot. "Yes, I did, and it was the strangest thing…"

As the three strode down the cobblestone pavement of Diagon Alley towards their favorite restaurant, Hermione explained what she had just witnessed.

"...And then he Apparated away, just like that," she finished.

Harry's and Ron's reactions were so alike, Hermione almost smiled at the sight of their matching faces.

"_What_?!"

"You saw _Malfoy_?!"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, and it was very queer; he looked at me all funnily, and sounded very angry that I recognized him and whatnot - and then he Apparated away after saying something about me, I don't really remember what he said, but it looked like he was trying to hide -"

"Hermione, what were you doing in Knockturn Alley in the first place?" Harry demanded, nearly crashing into a young boy who was running around and chasing his pet toad.

"Yeah!" Ron frowned, just barely jumping out of the way as an owl streaked past. "Even Charlie says that place gives him the creeps."

Hermione pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "Oh, come on, I can take care of myself. And that's not the point, the point was that _Malfoy_-"

"You know, we hadn't heard from him in so long that I was getting hopeful that he'd died off somewhere," muttered Ron, and Harry snorted.

She frowned. "But that's the _point_, no one's seen him in ages, and I've never thought about it before, but isn't that just a little _strange _that he's kept such a low profile? I mean, Malfoy's always been-"

"A prat?" Harry supplied.

"A two-faced arsehole?" Ron offered.

"- spoiled and prideful, and I'm just thinking, it's strange that he would have hidden himself for so long -"

"Well, he's a bloody coward, for one," said Ron.

"And it's not like we've been looking around for him, so how do we know that he's been hiding all this time?" Harry pointed out.

She considered this, then said, "Well, I just wanted to say that I think it's odd how out of all the places to see him, Knockturn Alley is the one. I mean, Knockturn Alley doesn't really seem-"

She cut herself off because Harry and Ron had both stopped in their tracks and were staring at her with utmost incredulity on their faces. "What?"

"Knockturn Alley doesn't seem like his type of place?" Ron completed for her, his mouth wide open. "What, are you _kidding_? It was probably his bloody playground when he was little-"

"Hermione, he went _shopping_ there while we were in Hogwarts-"

"I know," she said impatiently, "but I was just thinking, wouldn't all that make him want to stay _away_ from that place? I mean, think about it. All those people would have known him before, when the Malfoy family was really prominent in Wizarding society, so now that their name's been disgraced, don't you think Malfoy would stay away from there, where people might resent him?"

They had arrived at their destination, but none of them made any motion to go inside. Harry, at least, seemed to be pondering her words, but Ron immediately said, "Malfoy thinks the world revolves around him - he wouldn't care about them."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry was nodding and saying, "Yeah, Ron's right. Malfoy's so hung up on himself that he probably wouldn't care. I think you're thinking into this a little bit too much, Hermione… But wow, the fact that someone's finally seen him after a year…"

"Shame," Ron said sadly, no doubt relishing in dreams of Malfoy's death.

But as the three stepped into the restaurant, Hermione could not stop thinking about the short, strange encounter she'd had. What exactly had Draco Malfoy been doing that made him suddenly show himself after so long?

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><p>Pansy Parkinson had been in Mountman Courtyard, Millicent Bulstrode at Trinor Alley. Matthias Huang at Pieder's Alley, Theo Nott at Chilton Park. And then four more people at four other places until he'd found Knockturn Alley, the one place Draco Malfoy would have supposed he would be spotted the most, yet he'd gone at least two months in that alley without seeing a single familiar face in the streets.<p>

And of _course_ it would have to be the very place he would be spotted by _Hermione bloody Granger_.

Draco Apparated into his spacious bedroom with his face twisted into a nasty scowl, caused by the young woman in question. Likely, the prideful little good-doer would be telling Potter and the Weasel all about spotting him - spotting him! She had _barged into him_ because she'd been transfixed by that bewitched object in the window - obviously, the Wizarding World's most beloved war heroine was not well acquainted with places like Knockturn Alley and their artifacts.

He tore off the dark coat and hat that he always donned when on his walks, throwing them onto his hangers, fuming and lost in thought like he always was after a particularly trying walk.

He'd begun his walks the first month after the trial was over. First a weekly activity of little import, walking had turned into a daily event that Draco could not put down despite the fact that it was done in solitude and always with a degree of secrecy. It wasn't like walking around random alleys and courtyards hoping he wouldn't be spotted was particularly _enjoyable_, but it was something to do; something was better, at least, than nothing but sitting at home watching his mother try to grasp the same status their family had once held in Wizarding society.

The first place he found had been Mountman Courtyard, a nice little Pureblood plaza that had lots of nooks and crannies to slip in if he was ever to spot a familiar face… but Pansy Parkinson had always had an annoying knack of finding him, and as soon as she'd spotted him in that courtyard, Draco hadn't wanted to take any chances - he moved onto the next venue he found.

But that one had been violated by Millicent Bulstrode, who was almost as much of a nightmare as Pansy, and that was when Draco vowed he would not stay in any alley or area that someone had spotted him in. Too much chance, too much drama, and too many _people_.

Over the past year, he'd gone to every single shady Wizarding place in London, gotten spotted at every single one until he'd found Knockturn Alley, which he could comfortably tolerate, mostly because he was very familiar with the area. He'd been quite pleased with the place, far more than he had been with Trinor Alley and that one Pureblood neighborhood he'd walked around in until he was spotted by Fred Vesalius. Apparently, his former acquaintances did not go to Knockturn Alley nearly as much as he'd thought they did.

But oh, Hermione Granger did. Draco gave a derisive snort. Of all the people to ruin the one safe walking venue for Draco, it _would_ be one of the Golden Trio. _Now_ where was he supposed to go for his walks? Diagon Alley? The Ministry?

He was so caught up in his fuming at the injustice of it all that when Draco finally noticed the intruder sprawled across his bed, he jumped about half a mile, bruising his knee as it smashed into the bed post.

"Bloody-" he cursed, glaring at the person on his bed.

"You look angry," Blaise Zabini said lazily, propping himself up on his elbows.

"What the bloody hell are you doing in my room?" Draco growled, striding over to the Italian and attempting to push him off the bed.

"Well, you see," said Blaise, rolling out of Draco's reach, "I came five minutes ago, but your mother said you were on one of your walks again, so I popped into your room to see if she was kidding-"

"My mother doesn't kid, and neither do I when I say I am going to _murder_ you, Zabini, if you don't get your filthy self off my bed-"

"-or not, but she wasn't, so I decided I'd just wait for you up here." Blaise frowned. "I thought we could have a nice little talk, but I can see that won't be happening." He nodded towards Draco's coat and hat. "Who was it this time? I bet it was Brian Cassepia. I'm surprised you haven't seen him yet-"

Draco scowled. "Who said anything about seeing someone?"

"Because every time you do, you look like you're going to punch the living daylights out of everyone you see," said Blaise knowingly. "On a scale from one to Pansy, how bad was it?"

"As bad as seeing you," Draco retorted before pushing the Italian to the other side of the sheets.

Blaise gave up and leapt off the bed, brushing his now-crinkled black robes. "So it couldn't have been Cassepia, because he's not too bad. Who was it then?"

Draco, suddenly very moody, threw himself on the bed in disgust and crossed his arms very tightly. "Granger."

Blaise's jaw dropped open. "_Granger_?" he repeated incredulously. "I thought you were in Knockturn Alley? Granger was in _Knockturn Alley_?"

"Apparently so," he said snidely.

"She was _in_ Knockturn Alley?"

"What did I just say? _Yes_."

"You're sure it was her?"

Draco snapped, "Of course it was, who else has hair that's larger and bushier than a lion's mane?"

Blaise raised his eyebrows and ran a hand over the dark stubble on his chin. "Huh."

The two were silent for a few moments until Blaise abruptly clapped his hands. "Ah, well, I suppose it's a sign, that you got, er, found out."

Draco frowned at him, but the Italian did not appear to notice.

"See, your mother and I think it's time for you to get a job."

Draco's distasteful look deepened and he spat out, "When hell freezes over. Twice."

Blaise leaned against a bedpost and frowned back at him. "No, really. There's an opening at the Ministry, and your mother-"

"Don't bring up my mother, Zabini-"

"Well, I've got to, because she's the only one who you listen to anymore." Blaise crossed his arms. "Apply for the job, Draco. You don't know when there'll be another chance. It took me an entire year until the Ministry had an opening, and took Daphne a year and a half."

"Well that's bloody fantastic for you, but I don't _need_ a job, Zabini, as you can see perfectly well-"

"This isn't about the _money_." Blaise's voice was rising in volume, a telltale sign that he was becoming agitated and that Draco should plan to block out every word he spewed out. "It's about you getting something to do other than walk around aimlessly, it's about you getting out there again, it's about you actually being Draco fucking Malfoy, it's about you getting a _life_-"

"I have a life!" Draco snarled, pushing himself off the bed. "I have a life, and if you think I want a job at the _Ministry_, you've gone too far off your rocker to be considered sane anymore."

Blaise spun around towards the door, shaking his head. "Your problem is that you have no idea what you're missing."

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but found he didn't have a response. He moodily clamped it shut and watched Blaise sigh and leave the room.

He was probably going to talk to Draco's mother, and the two'd come up with some barmy plan to get him "back in motion", as Blaise liked to call it. What they didn't understand was that he didn't need nor want the job (assuming the Ministry would accept him); Draco was perfectly content the way he was.

His gaze became unfocused as he frowned and remembered the incident in Knockturn Alley. It was bloody unfortunate, wasn't it, that Hermione Granger happened to be the world's _nosiest_ person who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Draco hissed and threw himself back down on his sheets. "Bloody Granger."

It felt rather pleasant to blame her for the fact that he was running out of venues to walk in.

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><p><strong>Not very long, I'm afraid, but I'm working on Chapter 3 and hopefully my teachers won't pile up homework when we get back to school! Many apologies for this being published so late - thank you all for being so patient.<strong>

**xo Autumn**


	3. Slytherin Scheming

**Hey everyone! Another chapter out in less than two weeks! Big thanks to my beta, Spirit; again, she's brilliant :)**

**I hope all of you had a wonderful New Years!**

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><p>Although Draco had certainly been correct in thinking Blaise would go downstairs to scheme with Narcissa Malfoy about the job and Draco's life, he hadn't counted on Blaise being optimistic <em>as well as <em>barmy. It was this (unfortunately false) impression that allowed Draco to casually and shamelessly complain more about Hermione Granger aloud to himself as Blaise walked past to use the loo.

But unfortunately for Draco, Blaise _was_ optimistic as well as barmy, and Blaise _did_ think a lot about Hermione Granger after hearing Draco complain about her with far more vigor and far more intent than he'd complained about anything else for ages. A plan began to take shape in Blaise's Slytherin-ish mind, and it was with a jolly spirit that he began to put it in place.

The next day at work, Blaise got off the lift one floor earlier than he needed to, and marched towards the Deputy Head's office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

The Deputy Head was just entering and nodded when she spotted him. "Zabini," Hermione Granger said politely as she pushed the door open. "How can I help you?"

The two were on civil terms and could be called co-workers (though they rarely did work together); but no one in their right mind could call them friends, and it was highly unlikely they could even be considered acquaintances. If one were to ever visit the other at their respective work areas, it would be strictly for business - no personal lives or chatter involved.

What Blaise had in store for Hermione today, however, had nothing to do with business; at least, none of the Ministry kind.

"Hullo, Granger." He flashed her a grin as he paused two steps in front of her. "You have some spare time?"

"Depends for what," she replied, frowning slightly at the bounce in his step.

He pressed. "Have you got time?"

"What _for_?" she asked, and he saw that her eyes narrowed at the sight of the smirk on his face.

"Just to chat a bit."

She shot him a curious - and slightly suspicious - glance over her shoulder. "About what?"

Well, there was really no point in beating around the bush anymore, Blaise thought, so he simply said, "You saw Draco Malfoy yesterday, didn't you?"

Blaise wouldn't believe it himself if someone told him, but Granger actually _tripped_ as she walked into her office. She would've fallen flat on her face if she hadn't cleverly caught herself with a silent and wandless spell.

"Very coordinated," he said, not at all being sarcastic, but Granger straightened herself and glared at him.

"You know, I'm quite busy today and since this" - she gave a violent gesture towards him, and he thought he should feel slightly offended - "doesn't appear to be about work, I should make you leave right now."

"But you won't," said Blaise, brazenly stepping into the office behind her, "because I can see you're intrigued by what I've got to say."

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't certain if she should continue to glare at the smirking Italian, provoking the thought that he was very much correct, or if she should opt for the simpler way out - pretending she had very little interest in the affairs of Draco Malfoy.<p>

(But she found that she _did_, even if it was just a formal interest, and that was the awful thing about it.)

Nevertheless, she went for the latter.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, propping her door open. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really do have quite a lot of work to finish-"

"Granger, I assure you that I'll do my best to keep this brief." He brushed past her and promptly took a seat in the chair across from her desk.

Jaw dropping, Hermione strode over to her side of the desk, setting her files down with more force than necessary. "Excuse me," she said in clipped tones, "but I believe that this is _my_ office."

"And a very plain one at that," said Zabini, his dark eyes wandering over the bare walls of the room.

Alright, so there weren't very many posters and newspaper clippings and photos on the walls, but so what if she preferred to keep things simple? She frowned at him.

"Not that that's a bad thing," he added, without seeing her expression.

"Well I'm pleased that my room has gotten your approval," she said coolly.

"Calm down, Granger. It's just a joke. Sit down." He waved her towards her chair, and her frown deepened as she made no attempt to move.

"What do you want, Zabini?"

"I thought I mentioned it already. I want to talk to you about Draco Malfoy. You remember him?" He didn't wait for her answer. "Yes, of course you do. You saw him yesterday, yes?"

It was not a question, and Hermione knew it.

She crossed her arms very tightly and said stiffly, "It was a very brief encounter. Why?" she added, the blasted word slipping from her lips before she could stuff it back inside.

She mentally cursed herself as a knowing smile graced Zabini's features. She was doing an awfully poor job at pretending she hadn't spent the better half of yesterday pondering over Malfoy's appearance.

Out of nowhere, Zabini changed subjects; perhaps it had something to do with the fact a few employees were walking past her office now. She waved the door shut as he continued, "You're the Deputy Head. You know there's a job opening in the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells, then."

"And Protective Objects," Hermione said sharply. Her arms had unfurled from their tight ravel, and she was tapping a finger on the corner of the desk, still frowning at him.

"Sorry?"

"That's the rest of the division name," she said, pursing her lips. "Everyone always forgets it."

He looked, for the first time since she'd met him, at a loss for what to say. Hermione cast a look at the new files from the Minister on her desk and the older ones that were stacked on a shelf. "Zabini, I really have to work, so do try to get to the point-"

"Ah, yes. Granger," - he nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact with her - "I'm going to have to ask you to help Malfoy secure that job."

She wasn't certain she heard him correctly. "Excuse me?"

He repeated, "I want you to help him get the job." As if she was his to order around! This was certainly not what she had been expecting.

When she found her voice again, Hermione's cool demeanor had washed away and she simply blurted out, "Zabini, you are absolutely mad."

He regarded her with calm eyes. "And why is that?"

She began to pace. "I can't go around giving people jobs simply because you _ask_ me to - applications are used for a reason, you know. I refuse to 'help you secure the job'; how fair would that be to other applicants? Furthermore, I see no reason why _Malfoy_, after all this time, out of all these people, would _want_ to apply for a job at the Ministry."

And indeed her mind was racing, because why _would_ Malfoy want a job? At the Ministry, no less. It was quite obvious that the Malfoys_, _no matter the state their honor was in, were well equipped with money, and Draco Malfoy had absolutely no need to work for the rest of his life. The same could probably be said for his children, and perhaps even his grandchildren.

Hermione gave Blaise a shrewd, calculating look. Had Malfoy put him up to this? She couldn't see why Zabini would be asking otherwise, but then again, she hadn't even known Zabini was still acquainted with Malfoy. The two had never appeared to be close at Hogwarts, and the Zabini family name hadn't been dragged in the dust after the war like the Malfoys' had. But Blaise had to be on frequent speaking terms with Malfoy if he was aware that she'd seen Draco yesterday…

Hermione didn't believe for one second that Malfoy would _want_ a job and, if he was looking, she would have listed off every other hiring workplace in the Wizarding World before guessing the Ministry. Draco Malfoy was an arrogant prick with weak morals, and he was _proud. _There was not a chance in a million years that the blond would forfeit his pride for a job he didn't even need.

"You're mad," she repeated decisively to Zabini. "Did Malfoy put you up to this?"

"No," said Blaise, and Hermione decided he was _really_ off his rocker. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to him."

"As if I _speak_ to him on a daily basis," she retorted, stopping in her tracks. "Why in Merlin's name would you want to get Malfoy a _job_? Are you sure he actually wants it?"

Blaise stood and stretched, flashing her an amused smile. "Well, Granger, that's for you to find out later." She had no words to answer to that with (what was he harping on about?), only a gape, and Blaise's smile grew wider. "Expect the invitation in a couple of days."

"The - the what?" she spluttered as he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the door. "Zabini-"

But he only ducked out of her office with a final wave and a, "See you, Granger." She was left staring after him, her mouth hanging open in indignation.

"That-" She could not find a word suitable enough to describe him, and instead shut her mouth and threw herself into her chair.

What in Merlin's name had just happened? The only reason she'd let Zabini into her office was because she'd thought he had some information about Malfoy - maybe why he was roaming Knockturn Alley, what he'd said to her. Something of the like.

And then she'd gotten herself into this situation, simply because her _curiosity_ couldn't stand two seconds without knowing something.

Hermione absentmindedly ran a hand through her tangled hair and turned her attention (or as much of it as she could) to the files on her desk. Minister Shacklebolt had given her a whole complicated new case about some traditional pureblood laws that she had to attend to… Except it was very hard to think about laws when there were so many other things that were still racing through her mind.

She let out a huff of breath and vowed she would keep her curious nature in check from now on. Merlin knew she didn't need more connections to Draco Malfoy than necessary.

* * *

><p>But it was again her curiosity that found her sitting in a fancy gourmet restaurant across Blaise Zabini and <em>Draco Malfoy himself <em>three days later.

She'd gone on her share of lunches and dinners with old school acquaintances - she'd even dined with Zacharias Smith before - and quite a few of them had been slightly awkward, but they'd still been bearable.

This "reunion", if it could be called that, was unfortunately not of the same caliber.

She was only slightly exaggerating when it crossed her mind that the dinner was life-threateningly tense, because her muscles were stiff, cramped, and she didn't think she would be able to force one bite of rich food down her constrained throat and into her clenched, nauseated stomach.

Draco Malfoy, who was dressed in a crisp dark suit that resembled the one he'd been wearing in Knockturn Alley, did not seem to be faring much better than she. His shoulders were remarkably tense, and he was sitting so straight, he appeared to be taller than Blaise (who was in reality half a foot taller than Malfoy). She could not see his hands, but she was almost certain they were clenched white in his lap like hers were.

The only one out of the three that did not look as if his joints had been replaced by wood was the host, who was seemingly unfazed by the vehement glares being sent his way from the other two.

Blaise Zabini had unfortunately failed to mention to each of his companions that the other would be joining them for dinner. Needless to say, neither of them was very pleased with him.

"Lighten up," Blaise encouraged, but the grin on his face easily revealed he was having a most entertaining time watching them behave like toy soldiers.

He immediately received two scowls and a muttered, "Go to hell," from Malfoy.

"I feel the need to remind you," Hermione said through clenched teeth, "that if it weren't for manners and the fact you _forced_ me into this, I'd be gone by now."

Blaise smirked. "And I feel the need to remind _you_, Granger, that you came of your own volition."

It was this comment that broke her composure. "You said it was going to be a quick chat! I have the note right here" - she dug and brandished it from her purse, thrusting the slip of paper in his face - "and nowhere on here does it mention dinner, nor does it say _someone else was going to join us_!"

"Alright, so it was a bit vague, but I did think I implied-"

She was about to interrupt him when the third member of their party spoke up.

"By all means, Granger" - Hermione's eyes snapped up to meet Malfoy's sharp grey ones - "leave if you want to. Good riddance that will be."

It was the first words he'd spoken to her since Blaise forcibly ushered them into the restaurant. She hadn't known how to respond to him other than a terse glance because he hadn't given her words to reckon with, and she wasn't certain how she was supposed to react to the sight of him. They were past the immature skirmishes of school, but Hermione certainly didn't _like_ him any more than she did at Hogwarts; it was only for the sake of civility (and curiosity) that she'd held her tongue up to this point, but seeing as Malfoy was no longer interested in keeping a civil mind, she turned to him, eyes blazing.

"Because of your _friend _here, I can't exactly leave, Malfoy. Manners, the fact he's reserved this spot - it would be rude if I left now, but trust me when I say that I would like _nothing_ more than to leave-"

"Then _do_ _so_, you'd be doing us a favor-" His words were snide and brusque, but Hermione couldn't help but notice how his face remained a blank mask devoid of emotion. It irritated her. It really did.

She could practically feel the anger rising in a flush onto her face. Hermione hadn't spent a lot of her time since Hogwarts around people she truly, _truly _disliked, but faced with these two Slytherins, one of which she had (she realized now) hoped she would never see again, those blissful three years appeared to be seizing this moment to get her knickers in a _very _annoying twist.

"I can't," she said irritably, but, fearing she sounded too passive and weak, added, "but you wouldn't understand that, you don't know the first thing about manners-"

"You're really one to talk, Granger."

"Well you really _aren't_. Why don't _you_ go, anyway?" She crossed her arms and scowled at him. "I'm sure manners are the last thing on your mind right now."

And it was very peculiar, because Hermione hadn't meant that to be a scathing comment (in fact, it was said rather offhandedly), but it was this that suddenly caused Draco's mask to crack away.

"Granger," he began in a low, furious voice, his face scrunched up in an unflattering snarl, but Blaise, who looked remarkably… _happy_ about something, cut in, waving wildly with his hands. "Oh, look, our food's here!" And Draco clamped his mouth shut and assumed his expressionless mask again.

It was very strange, and Hermione didn't know what to make of it. Instead of biting back, she simply stayed silent as the waitress laid fancy steaks and side dishes on their table.

For ten minutes, they sat and ate in stoic silenc, with the exception of Blaise's half-hearted attempts to get them to speak. Hermione tried to distract herself with the astonishingly large array of utensils laid out in front of her. Though she was self-taught in the uses of each one, she hadn't (like Zabini and Malfoy obviously had) spent her entire life facing a similar display of utensils three meals a day, and suspected she was using the wrong spoon to drink her soup.

Finally, when there was very little food left to distract themselves with, Blaise assumed a serious face and said conspiratorially, "Alright. Hermione, Draco, I suppose it's time to get to business right now."

"Make it quick," Hermione said tersely, but _this_ was what she'd come for, and she found herself leaning in.

Draco, on the other hand, shot Blaise an apprehensive glance, and Hermione wondered if he had been unaware there was a purpose to this meeting at all. (But honestly, why else would Hermione have come?)

Blaise continued, "Now, Draco, keep your temper in check, and Granger, keep an open mind. I'm only trying to do what's best for you - well, maybe Malfoy's getting more out of it than you, Granger - but that's besides the point. The point is-"

"Zabini, stop stalling."

"Have some patience, Draco." But the Italian turned to Hermione, and she thought she could detect a pleading in his eyes, though it might've been the trick of the light, for his voice was smooth and confident. "The job, Hermione. Please get this fine bloke here that job at, er, the Ministry."

And before she could refuse, Malfoy was standing up with his face screwed up in anger and his hand tightly clutching a part of Blaise's shirt.

It appeared he was unable to 'keep his temper in check', because he said in a menacing tone, "We're going." Hermione could hardly process what was happening, but Blaise was shooting her an apologetic glance as he struggled to get a few galleons from his pocket and place them on the table. Then, they were gone with a crack of Apparition and Hermione was left to deal with confused waiters and customers who were clucking their tongues at the rudeness of it all.

"Is everything okay?" asked a nearby waitress.

And what could Hermione do but smile through her confusion, hand her Blaise's galleons, and say, "Oh, yes. Everything's fine."

Little did Hermione know that it was only the first time in a succession of many that she would say those words without meaning them.

* * *

><p>Certainly, everything was not fine for Blaise as Draco furiously Side-Along Apparated him to Malfoy Manor, where the blond promptly began to let loose the pent up anger he'd harboured since he'd seen Hermione Granger, the demon of his week, standing outside The Black Pearl next to Blaise.<p>

"What was that, Zabini?! Inviting bloody _Granger_ for dinner? I know you've never been right in the mind, but I thought you would at least have enough sense to stay away from people like her!" He scowled in disgust. "And the job! I thought I made myself perfectly clear that _you have no right to interfere with my life_! Goddamnit, Zabini, just get out of my sight."

He began to angrily make his way to the great marble staircase when Blaise spoke up. "Maybe I should've told _her_ to keep her temper in check and _you_ to keep an open mind."

"And that matters because?"

"Because I think you'd be much more enjoyable to be around if you'd just realize how you seem to the rest of the world."

"Maybe _you_ should realize that I don't give a-"

"Draco, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from using profanity," said Narcissa Malfoy mildly as she swept into the room, deep purple robes billowing behind her.

Draco's mouth pressed into a firm line, and the red spots on his cheeks receded to a fair pink. "Mother."

"Mrs. Malfoy, a pleasure as always," Blaise said pleasantly.

"Draco, come down here please." She gestured to her son, who was halfway up the stairs. He looked torn for a moment before relenting and tediously making his way down.

"Now, what were you yelling about? I heard your voices all the way from my chamber. You don't want to disturb your-" She paused. "Well, in any case, it would be best to keep your voice down." A ghost of a smile flitted across Narcissa's refined face. "Although it surprises me that _you're_ the one I must tell that to, son."

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Blaise laughed, obviously at ease that Draco wasn't going to murder him with his mother in the room.

"I can only wonder why you're in this state." Narcissa's sharp eyes narrowed.

Draco glowered at Blaise before mustering out, "_Zabini_ has lost his mind, Mother. I suggest you stay away from him."

Eyebrows raised, she turned to the subject in question, whom she treated as well as she did her son. "Ah. Blaise?" It wasn't often that Blaise and Draco would get into serious fights (Blaise had only started to become close to Draco after the war), but when they did, Narcissa was perceptive enough to make certain she had both points of views before judging.

"He's being stubborn," the Italian replied promptly, catching Draco's eye with a nod. "He refuses to even consider that job-"

"I thought I told you-"

"-even though it would do him so much better than being alone half the time-"

"Well it's better than the likes of which _you_ hang around with!" Draco snapped, and with a last scalding glare at Blaise, he spun around and Apparated, most likely to his room.

Narcissa frowned at the spot he'd occupied. "Blaise, what does he mean by that?"

"Well," said Blaise, "I believe he means Hermione Granger."

"Hermione Granger?" Narcissa tilted her head. "You mean the Potter boy's friend?"

"That would be her. Though she's making a name for herself, you know. Deputy Head of a department, and it's only her second year at the Ministry."

"Ah."

"She's Deputy Head of the department the job opening's in."

Narcissa nodded knowingly. "And while going out to dinner, I suppose you invited her, then."

"Precisely." Blaise drummed his fingers on a stone pedestal. "Draco wasn't pleased, naturally, but…"

"...This Hermione Granger," she said slowly. "She's a muggleborn?"

He nodded.

"And despite that, she's very successful," Narcissa mused. "She's in the newspaper quite often."

"Yes, I suppose," said Blaise, watching Narcissa carefully. She had adopted a scheming twinkle in her eye, and she stroked her elegant chin thoughtfully.

This sort of commenting from Narcissa and affirmation from Blaise continued for another minute or so before Blaise finally offered what he believed to be one of the more important assets of Hermione Granger.

"She makes him angry," Blaise said simply. "_Passionately_ angry, and very quickly, too. You saw how he just acted. He hasn't been that agitated for ages, since Pansy spotted him at Mountman. It's like Granger's got this… I don't know, it just makes Draco _work_. Admittedly, he starts swearing like he's a madman, but…" Blaise shrugged. "I haven't seen him this worked up in a long time.."

Narcissa Malfoy contemplated these words. The girl, Hermione Granger, was very well known and liked in the Wizarding World. The role she played in the war was only a prelude to her fame; it was her remarkable efforts in restoring London and Hogwarts that made her so famous.

She was the very opposite of Draco. It was little wonder she, according to Blaise, was able to work up Draco so. Her son had lived the past two years in relative calm and quiet, which had been soothing at first before she'd realized what it implied - that he'd _given up_.

No amount of unconditional help from Blaise could help that. No love Draco felt for his family could persuade him to move on from the events and outcome of the war. Draco had spent the last two years in a daze, irreversibly stuck between the boy he was to the man he was supposed to become. Nothing could change that.

Except, it seemed, Hermione Granger.

"Blaise," said Narcissa. "I will invite Ms. Granger for tea."

She did not need to explain herself to him, for she already gathered from the glint in his eyes that he'd been thinking along the same lines what opportunities Hermione Granger posed in Draco's situation.

Perhaps she could perform a miracle on Draco, too. Perhaps she could change him when nothing else could. She was practically an idol in the Wizarding World; surely by her influence, Draco could become the vibrant young man Narcissa and Lucius had hoped he would be. Surely under Granger's influence, Draco could make a name for himself and the Malfoy honor could possibly be restored.

Blaise, she could see, understood this. Indeed, he simply nodded at her request. "Draco's not going to like this, though."

Narcissa shook her head dismissively. "He won't be the one entertaining her. Neither will he know of the session."

"I'm not sure Granger will accept. She's not exactly… well, she wasn't very happy to dine with us today. I doubt she would come here willingly." He coughed. "The Manor might be a stretch for her. Out of her comfort, I'd assume."

"Then we will do it at a coffee place," said Narcissa unconcernedly. She would go to commonplace pubs like the Leaky Cauldron if Ms. Granger wanted to; she suddenly viewed this meeting with the young woman more important than any formal interviews she'd had in the past year. After all, just one lucky break with one very popular woman would certainly be enough to firstly heal her son and, secondly, heal the honor Narcissa had done so much to try to repair.

"Thank you, Blaise," she said, nodding towards the Italian. "For bringing me this information."

Blaise sighed. "If only Draco would get his head out of his - ahem. Er, well, in any case, it would be nice if he thought the same."

"I have my hopes that he will, very soon."

The two continued to small talk for a few moments. Neither of them noticed the pale figure standing at the third floor railing, listening into their conversation. His hand was tightly clenched on the rail, turning white at the knuckles.

He remembered Hermione Granger, the Mudblood. He remembered her buck teeth and bushy brown hair and haughty, despicable muggle attitude. He most clearly remembered her writhing on the drawing room floor, her blood splattering the tiles as her screams echoed through the Manor. He remembered her well.

And he didn't like what Narcissa was scheming. He didn't like it at all.

His black robes swept on the floor as he returned to his study and pulled out a blank piece of parchment.

Lucius Malfoy began to write: _Dear Ms. Granger…_

* * *

><p><strong>I'm pleased that this turned out longer than the previous chapter! Thanks for all the support you've all given me so far. You don't know how much it helps me keep writing. I'd love to hear more from you guys though, about what you think so far, so if you can, please review! Thanks :)<strong>

**One last thing: I've set up a little poll on my profile about Dramione plots, and it would be great if you could check it out! It doesn't really relate to this story; it's more for the sake of curiosity than anything else, really, but I'd like to see what you think a good Dramione plot should have.**

**Thanks again, everyone! xo Autumn**


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